Alone
by Lillum
Summary: Just the life of Horace Mahoney up untill his death. Please R&R. Pretty please leave me some reviews.
1. Born into Nothing

"Waaaaaaaaaah," the squeals were getting closer. He could hear him, _Horace_. It was only a few hours after that dreadful birth, and she was gone forever. James (Horace's father) knew that this deformed child would never be able to live a true life with his mother gone and only a father, who could already feel the shame burn inside of him.

He could hear the cry's getting stronger they grew with each step. He turned and peered into a few beaten cars with open doors, hoods, and broken windows. Nothing, there was nothing there yet the cries were screaming in his ear, tearing at him. "Where is that damn baby?" He thought to himself. After hours of this crap he decided to give up. He saw, what was about 20 feet in front of him, a green 1951 tireless Beetle. The Beetle was mostly intact but had never appealed much to him until now.

He decided that kid was better off dead. He wouldn't be made fun for his deformity, or his corrupted family, and all the other worries this damned world has to offer. He himself wouldn't have to worry about the shame and worries either. He knew it was cruel of him to give up so easily, but after he was born his own wife turned away crying after she saw Horace's face. After she saw his son's face his own life was ruined. There was nothing left no one was left.

The birth was at their little trailer since Cheryl (Horace's mom) wanted to have their first child at home. She never liked all that doctor's equipment, she said "It makes me feel ignorant and scared especially when they talk about you with letters and numbers. To me it's nothing but I guess it means something to them."

He thought about her sweet voice it was southern and he could listen to her talk for eternity. She was beautiful, and he thought he didn't look so bad either. So what in God's name was wrong with that child. No one could explain. When Eli, the doctor/priest, delivered him he looked away with disgust. He basically walked out of the house mumbling something. He was about to follow him when the scream came from the bedroom.

She screamed she yelled and said she would never have anything do with him. She wouldn't even name him. Poor Horace, the old lady who came with the nurse had named him. Horace was a horrible name. She said in a sweet, faint voice "That was my grandfather's name. He was a good man. A very good man." He asked himself how old she was to not be able to see the evil in front of her as she held him humming some lullaby while the nurse cared to his wife.

He sat down leaning on the Beetle near the driver's door. The crying stopped and he thought, "Might as well get the death certificate lined up. Maybe she would hear and come running back to me. Maybe she would say lets forget and move on and she'll tell me everyday how much she loves me," He thought aloud.

He ran into the room, she was lying the middle some blood stained sheets crying. He didn't dare look at that kid. He looked only to his sobbing wife. After he was named and it looked like everyone was calm they left giving words of reassurance and open arms to any problem. He told her he was going to take a shower and then they would talk. When he got out there was no noise just nothing, no one. He ran after her, breathlessly following her muddy footprints when he saw that she had climbed the fence. There lay a stretch of about five miles of pasture, but all he could was that no one was there just the rain coming down softly, nothing.

He thought this all through while leaning on the Beetle. He decided to move on that baby was dead out in the cold rain nothing could be done.

As he was about to get up there was a silver object hooked to a jagged edge on the Beetle. It was his wife's necklace. He immediately threw himself down on his stomach and saw a sleeping, pale baby wrapped in a white dishtowel. There he was a grotesque, yet beautiful baby. Horace's face was covered with mud and he was shivering furiously. James carefully took off his coat and wrapped Horace in it.

As soon as he got home he put Horace in the white crib they had bought three months ago at some nice baby store. He gently layed Horace in and decided that through this entire nothing there was something after all. Something sick, and well different.

I do not own any of the thirteen ghosts characters this is just my version of the story.


	2. Monster

"Horace, where the hell are you? You better get your ass over here this damn minute." Horace's father yelled out of the screen door of the trailer. "That kid better hurry before he pisses me off anymore."

Horace is at the east end of the junkyard playing in the dirt. Dry mud covers most of the left side of his face. He stands five feet and eight inches at the age of seven over a puddle. The rain softly sprays his bare chest. His toes slowly sank into the gritty, moist mud. His pale blue almost gray eyes looked over the nine-foot fence wondering, like he usually did, wondering what was beyond this yard he lived in.

"What was beyond the face of a father who would never look at me? What was out there? Would I ever see it? Would I ever get to put my big feet in real dirt or even grass? No, probably not. I'm just a big retard, well that's what they call me."

He looked down, his blonde hair, which was almost white, fell over his eyes as the wind gently blew. He shivered as if it was almost a shock. The bottoms of his faded jeans were encased with mud. He looked back up and saw a few family cars drove down the road, he figured it was probably Sunday. Just some lucky kids who got to outside even if it was sitting in the same place for two or three hours.

The rain was coming down harder. It even began to sting a little. He didn't mind it just got his mind off of those memories he started to think about again. He started to giggle as he thought of the time he a small car fell on top of him and his dad had to practically rip Horace's lower half just to get him out. He remembered when he got out his back was drenched in blood, and his father yanked his arm furiously and told him to never do that again. He still had scars from the car. They were long and crooked lines that ran down his back criss-crossing ever so often. Horace was only five.

He also had the scar from some older kids who threw rocks through his bedroom window. The first one hit him in the calf not too bad, but then he stood up. Man what a bad idea. The next one was small it hit his ear and started to bleed. Then they kept coming after five Horace was on the ground blood running down his face. His father didn't come home that, night probably at the bar or something, so Horace forced himself out of his room and into the bathroom. The kids had left, but Horace was still terrified besides it only happened six months ago.

Two weeks after that his father gave him a knife and said if it happened again just use this. He also showed how to use the shotgun. Horace guessed he was pretty good at it. He really didn't know what good was supposed to look like really. Horace was seven and still not in school so he was kind of dumb for his age.

"You know Horace, you are a big kid. You're almost six feet tall and not even ten. You shouldn't be scared of nothing. They should be the ones who are scared of you. If you wanted to I bet you just maul you know just tear them apart. Snap their necks, split their spines, or brake their arms with one punch. Next time I don't care what they do to you, you just defend yourself. You can use your strength for a lot of things, but I want you to remember to never hit a lady. Are you even listening to me? Horace!" He screamed.

"What? Yeah I was listening Dad."

"Good now go get me another beer while I look for a good engine. Hey make sure it's cold this time."

"Okay Dad."

Horace usually thought about what his father said. "Could I really just kill someone with one blow."

He looked at his hands they were extremely large for age. His fingernails were short but dirt was caked underneath them. Mud ran along the lines of his palms. He clutched both his hands at the same time and began to remember the first time he understood that his father was ashamed of him.

"Horace hurry up, go outside, and get that tire from the Honda."

"Why?"

"Because I told you to damn it. Now go before I get my belt to your ass."

"But…"

(Smack) His palm pierced the side of Horace's face.

"Next time do what I say the first time. For that bring all the tires to the shed."

Horace ran out of the back door, through the snow, and didn't stop until he reached the fence. The stinging was gone, but the numbness was inching through his worn boots. Hi father didn't hit him unless if Horace disobeyed. It was rare but it did happen. He knew he messed up big time. Oh well, it would pass over his dad in a few days.

"Why did he rush me out like that? What tires was he even talking about?" Horace looked up he saw a car parked in front of his house. Not his dad's pickup instead it gray, and it wasn't dusty at all. "Must be from the city or town." He thought to himself as he began to walk toward the trailer. His pace turned into a run until he got to the shed. He saw his father walk beside the window and come out of the back door.

"You know this part took a while to look for, but I think I found a sensible one just for you." Horace's father was talking to a woman. She was short with long, wavy brown hair. She wore a skirt and some tee shirt with the name of a bar on it or maybe it was band.

"Oh, really? Thanks. I've been looking for a while, but you know with money and all this other crap, I'm just glad my friend Nicole mentioned you to me. You know she did mention how nice you were, and how your business was pretty fair, but I thought she said you have a son."

"Yeah… he doesn't like people too much. He really just likes the out doors. You kids with dirt and all."

"What? I like people. I can anyways." Horace thought as he inched his around to the opposite side of the metal shed.

"Well you know Reese, my son, is about the same age as yours maybe he could come over and play sometime, since we're new and all."

"No! Horace just likes to play by himself. He doesn't like new people and really he just is kind of a bully. Reese wouldn't like him. Like I said he doesn't get along with other kids."

"He doesn't know. I've never played with any kids before. I'm not a bully am I. What is a bully anyways? What is he even talking?"

"Oh, I see. If you change your mind my number is on the card and here's your check. I better get back to work. Thanks for the part. Bye"

"Bye. Have a nice day."

After the car was out of site Horace hesitantly trudged into the kitchen. His head was down. He didn't want to look up. All could do was keep asking himself why his father had done that. He didn't understand then but he did now.

"He never wants me to be out there. To go beyond this fence that forces me to stay inside of it. I'll never go out there. Never put my enormous feet onto real green grass. Not this yellow, half-dead kind. I'll never have friends or get to do whatever kids do. I'll never have a girl or get married, never buy a real car, never even get to go out in public without being stared at."

"I know why he told me now that they should be afraid of me. Because I ugly. Everything was wrong with me. I was way too big. My face looked like I had been clubbed. I was pale. I looked nothing like a seven year-old boy."

"Hey, you hungry?" Horace's father asked as Horace was about to enter his room.

"No. I don't feel so good. I just wanna sleep."

"Okay."

"Yeah. Night." Horace said looking at his fingers while they nervously fiddled with each other.

"Night…hey…Horace wait."

"What?" He was leaning the edge of the trim of his door.

"I just wanted to say…um," he stopped and stared at Horace's eyes, but moved to grotesque features on his face, "thanks for getting those tired for me."

He slowly walked back into the living room leaving Horace _alone_ in the hallway.

No one could tell, but Horace was crushed. His dad knew he hadn't got any tires, he had heard everything, and was confused. He even knew what his dad was going to say. He never heard the words before spoken to him anyway.

Later that night Horace went into the bathroom and peeled the small mirror off of the wall. He took it into his room and began to examine his face. He then understood why? He was a monster. A real Frankenstein except he wished he could have stayed dead.

Horace could hear his father screaming for him. He quickly grabbed his shoes and axe and began to run before he got into too much trouble. He knew he was a monster but that was month's ago. He got over it like he always did. He would be locked up and never introduced to the world like Frankenstein.

Hey, didn't Frankenstein escape.


End file.
